


my ghost, where'd you go?

by jacksmannequin



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Car Accident, Character Death, Death, Depressing as shit, M/M, Mentions of Blood, based on a prompt, i literally wrote it in math class, patrick dies and pete visits his grave, patrick is a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksmannequin/pseuds/jacksmannequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life can suck, sometimes. Pete learned it the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my ghost, where'd you go?

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt 'person b crying and screaming that they're sorry, believing they caused person a's death. person a's ghost is at their side, helplessy trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to'  
> not beta'd and i'm not a native speaker  
> also try not to read too much into it  
> title from ghost by halsey

A sob echoed through the empty cemetery. Everything was pitch black, the night sky the same shade of darkness of a crow's wings. The silence was almost deafening; it seemed as if even the squirrels that lived in the woods nearby had decided to hide in their shelters, amplifying the feeling of despair that lingered on Pete's head.

Another sob followed, louder this time. A single tear fell from his eyes to the grave in front of which he was standing. He sobbed again, and again, until he found himself crying and shaking uncontrollably. He had promised himself that he wouldn't have cried. Yet another thing at which he'd failed, he thought bitterly.

Patrick used to tell him that he was too emotive every time he had the chance. He knew he cried too much. _He knew_ , because he had lost count of all the times Patrick left whatever he was doing and went to his place to comfort him. He knew that, because he needed his presence like fucking oxygen.

Patrick. His bottom lip twitched slightly at the sudden memory. Patrick used to slap him in the face every single time he knew Pete was being pessimistic, or too hard on himself. _Was. Used to._

Soon Pete's attempt at smiling gradually faded again, leaving him a mess of tears and hysterical laughter.

He was alive. Patrick wasn't. He hit his fucking head and bled to death. Pete didn't.

They were having a row about a song, like they always were. They were arguing over _fucking Hum Hallelujah_ , of all songs.

***

“ _Fucking hell, Pete, are we really having this conversation?” Patrick snapped, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. The rain was heavy, and the road was soaked._

“ _I'm being serious, asshole! Can't we do what I say, for once?” Pete snapped back. “This is_ my _fucking song. It's about_ my _suicide attempt-” Patrick flinched at that remark, but Pete ignored him and went on, “and Hallelujah fucking_ saved me _, and I want you to sing the chorus on the fucking bridge, is that too big of a request to make?! And Christ, keep your eyes on the road!”_

“ _Fuck, Pete, it's not about that! You know that, I- I can't sing that song, it's- fuck, you bring out the worst parts of my personality, I have no fucking idea how you do it! Just leave it be, we'll get to that fucking studio on time and we'll record what we wrote, okay-”_

“ _Shit, Patrick, watch where you're going,” Pete screamed, trying to gain control of the steering wheel. “There's a car in front of-”_

_Then everything went black._

***

Pete traced the letters engraved on the stone with his fingertips.

“I always made you get mad at me. I'm stubborn, aren't I? I can't help it. But you were the only one who put up with my shit, even though –” he hesitated, interrupted by another sob, “e-even though everything I did was bring out the bad side of your personality. You– you said that. Just before that fucking car came out of nowhere.”

He paused for a moment, not even bothering to wipe the tears off his face.

“I... I loved you, you know?” He laughed. A laughter filled with desperation. “It was the other way around, for me. You bring out my best. A-and yet it took me two fucking months to get my ass out of my house. Every single night, I wake up screaming your name. I c-couldn't bring myself to come here. It was too much. It's– it's too fucking real.”

An invisible hand landed on Pete's shoulder. He didn't react. “I miss you to death. I wish I'd died, too. It was all my fault. And I- I hate myself for that. They're getting worse. The nightmares. You're there, lifeless on the naked ground, covered in blood. My hands are shaking as I try to find my phone, see if it still works, try to call for help, while my left arm hangs broken from my shoulder. The ambulance, the rush, the paramedics trying to save the guy in the other car. The crimson red of the blood. I- I scream your name. Over and over.”

He gave in and sank to his knees as he stopped talking, hitting the cold stone with his body. Two arms caught him in a tight embrace, and then he started to cry again. Patrick rested his head on Pete's shoulder, getting no reaction from him. Of course, he wasn't able to see him.

“It's not your fault, Pete.” Patrick's voice was low and soothing, the one he used when Pete was upset. “I don't blame you. I have no reason for doing it.”

He raised his head, tears streaming down his face, as if he had heard something. But the cemetery was silent.

“It happened. That's life. It's gonna get better, though,” Patrick went on, in spite of Pete's inability to hear his voice. “I loved you. I still do. Maybe I would've told you, one day. We were both too proud to even admit it.” He places a hand on Pete's chest. “I was just angry. You know how I get,” he chuckles, “I didn't mean a thing of what I said. You were my Versailles at night, Pete. I could never hate you.” He shifted closer to Pete.

Pete felt something heavy applying pressure on his chest. He placed a hand right on his heart, feeling it warm up. He didn't even flinch. He didn't care about anything anymore.

“You'll get over it, eventually. Life goes on; you still have yours. Don't waste it.”

Pete nodded, not knowing to whom or what he was replying. He'd stopped crying.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , why you, Patrick? I can't live without you, these two months have been hell, I- I just- I can't”, he suddenly screamed with anger, staring at Patrick's name on the grave. “It isn't fair, it's not.”

He repeated those three words over and over, while Patrick's invisible arms held him tight. He fell asleep from the exhaustion some minutes later. Patrick didn't let go.


End file.
